Chapter 2 - THE DONOR THEY HID
Dr. Anika Rao arrived at the estate at 5:40 p.m.
She was a pediatric hematologist from a major Chicago hospital and had no relationship with Franklin Yates.
I knew because Prescott spent ninety minutes investigating her background before I allowed her through the gates.
Mara hated that.
“They don't have ninety minutes.”
“They're my children.”
“Exactly.”
She paced my library while the medical team reviewed records.
I stood near the fireplace.
“You always talk this much?”
“When people waste time.”
“Most people are afraid to speak to me that way.”
“That sounds like a management problem.”
Prescott turned away to hide a smile.
I remembered what life had been like before Genevieve died.
She used to speak to me like Mara.
Maybe that was why I had loved her.
Maybe that was why Mara irritated me instantly.
Dr. Rao entered at six-fifteen.
Her expression was serious.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Lawson.”
She nodded.
“I reviewed the twins' treatment history.”
“And?”
“The situation is extremely dangerous.”
I clenched my jaw.
“I already know that.”
“But I do not agree that there are definitely no remaining options.”
Mara closed her eyes.
Relief.
Not victory.
Dr. Rao continued.
“The donor document Ms. Quinn brought is legitimate.”
My knees almost weakened.
“Mara is a match?”
“She is a potential match. Preliminary testing appears unusually promising, but we need confirmatory HLA typing, infectious-disease screening, donor-health evaluation and a full transplant review.”
“How long?”
“We start tonight.”
“Then do it.”
“Mr. Mercer.”
I hated that tone.
The tone doctors use before telling powerful men that power has limits.
“There are no guarantees.”
“I didn't ask for guarantees.”
“Good.”
She held my gaze.
“Because money cannot buy one.”
Mara looked toward me.
I ignored her.
“What are their chances?”
“Right now, I can't responsibly give you a number.”
“Franklin gave me ten days.”
“Dr. Yates made a prognosis based on marrow failure and treatment response.”
“Was he wrong?”
“Possibly not about the severity.”
“Then what was he wrong about?”
Dr. Rao looked at Mara.
“Not telling you about the donor result.”
That sentence lit something inside me.
Prescott saw.
“Lawson.”
I turned.
“Bring Franklin here.”
Dr. Rao immediately said:
“No.”
Apparently this was becoming a theme.
I looked at her.
“This is still my house.”
“And those are still my patients now.”
Her voice remained calm.
“If you intimidate Dr. Yates before the records are preserved, you may make it harder to determine what happened.”
I had spent my entire adult life solving betrayal quickly.
Confront.
Pressure.
Break the lie before it grew.
Now two women I had met today were telling me to wait.
I hated waiting.
But Jonah and Blythe mattered more than my pride.
“Fine.”
Prescott quietly exhaled.
Dr. Rao continued.
“I recommend transferring both children to a hospital.”
“No.”
“Lawson—”
“No.”
I looked toward the medical wing.
“They're safer here.”
“From whom?”
The question irritated me.
“Everyone.”
“Not leukemia.”
Silence.
She continued.
“They need resources a private estate cannot replicate if complications develop.”
I looked at Prescott.
He nodded slightly.
He knew she was right.
I looked at Mara.
Also right.
I was having a terrible day.
“Arrange the transfer.”
Dr. Rao nodded.
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
Jonah woke while nurses prepared him.
“Dad?”
I sat beside him.
“We're going somewhere.”
“Another hospital?”
“Yes.”
His lower lip trembled.
“Did I get worse?”
“No.”
That was not completely true.
I hated lying to him.
So I corrected myself.
“You're very sick.”
He looked at me.
“But we're trying something new.”
“What?”
“There might be someone who can help.”
Blythe opened her eyes.
“Who?”
Mara stood behind me.
I turned.
She looked unsure.
For the first time since walking through my gates, she appeared afraid.
Not of me.
Of disappointing children.
I motioned her closer.
“This is Mara.”
Blythe studied her.
“Are you a doctor?”
“No.”
“Nurse?”
“No.”
“Princess?”
Mara laughed.
“No.”
Blythe considered.
“Then what are you?”
Mara looked at me.
I didn't know what to call her either.
Finally she said:
“Maybe I'm someone whose cells might be useful.”
Jonah frowned.
“That's boring.”
Mara smiled.
“I agree.”
Blythe asked:
“Does it hurt?”
Dr. Rao stepped in.
“We're going to do tests first.”
Blythe looked at Mara.
“Are you scared?”
Mara's eyes filled.
“A little.”
Blythe reached out.
“Me too.”
Mara took her hand.
That image stayed with me.
A woman with nothing comforting a child who had everything except health.
By eight, an ambulance convoy left the estate.
No sirens.
Security ahead and behind.
I rode with the twins.
Mara rode in another vehicle with Prescott.
At the hospital, reporters somehow knew.
Cameras waited.
My blood went cold.
Nobody outside a tiny circle knew we were transferring the children.
“Who leaked this?”
Prescott looked furious.
“I don't know.”
Dr. Rao ordered everyone inside.
The twins were placed in a protected pediatric oncology unit.
Mara began testing.
I called Franklin.
He answered after four rings.
“Lawson.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“You're not coming to the estate.”
A pause.
“What happened?”
“Jonah and Blythe were transferred.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Independent review.”
Longer silence.
“Lawson, moving them now is dangerous.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You sound concerned.”
“I am their doctor.”
“Not anymore.”
He stopped breathing for a moment.
Then:
“Who told you?”
There.
Not what changed.
Not why.
Who told you?
I smiled without humor.
“Good night, Franklin.”
“Lawson—”
I ended the call.
At 1:30 a.m., Mara's initial testing returned.
Dr. Rao came into the family consultation room.
I stood so quickly my chair fell.
“Well?”
“The match appears real.”
For one second, the room disappeared.
I heard nothing.
Prescott put a hand on my shoulder.
I shrugged it off.
“What does that mean?”
“It means she remains a possible donor.”
“Possible.”
“Yes.”
“When can you proceed?”
Dr. Rao looked tired.
“Not immediately.”
My anger returned.
“Why?”
“Blythe has an infection.”
My chest tightened.
“From what?”
“Her immune system is profoundly suppressed.”
“And Jonah?”
“His liver function is concerning.”
I stared at her.
“So we found a donor too late.”
“I didn't say that.”
“It’s what you mean.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“I mean the window is narrow.”
“How narrow?”
“We stabilize them. We complete donor evaluation. We convene transplant specialists in the morning.”
“Morning?”
“Lawson.”
“Ten days.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
My voice rose.
“My daughter asked whether her brother could die with her.”
The room went silent.
Dr. Rao's expression softened.
Then the door opened.
Mara stood there after giving blood for more tests.
She had heard me.
She looked pale.
Exhausted.
But determined.
“You're wasting energy fighting the wrong person.”
I turned.
“You really enjoy saying things no one else says.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked toward the twins' rooms.
“Because someone should have said them to Dr. Yates six weeks ago.”
Prescott's phone rang.
He stepped out.
Thirty seconds later, he returned with a face I knew well.
The face he wore when betrayal had become fact.
“What?”
He closed the door.
“We preserved copies of Yates's research server.”
“And?”
“Someone tried deleting files twenty minutes ago.”
“Franklin?”
“Account belongs to his administrator.”
“Which one?”
Prescott looked at Mara.
“Her replacement.”
Mara went still.
Prescott continued.
“There are donor reports for other children.”
“How many?”
“At least seven.”
“Rejected?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
Then he gave me the detail that turned a medical scandal into something much larger.
“Every child whose donor search was closed was enrolled afterward in the same experimental treatment program.”
Mara whispered the name.
“Nexaris.”
I looked at her.
“What is Nexaris?”
“A privately funded leukemia therapy trial.”
“Who funds it?”
She looked at Prescott.
He answered.
“Mercer Children's Foundation.”
My foundation.
My money.
My children.
My doctor.
And someone had been hiding transplant options while steering dying children into a program I had paid for.
I had spent years believing my enemies lived outside my gates.
May you like
For the first time, I wondered how many had been eating at my table.
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